A Life More Complete (15 page)

The deli is buzzing with lunchtime
customers and the atmosphere is bustling and busy. Right before placing our
orders Tyler, turns to me and says, “What’s good here?” He breaks the silence
that could have made even the most self-assured person feel deeply distressed.

 
“It’s a deli, Tyler. Everything’s good.” It
comes out a bit more annoyed than I expected. I order my usual, grilled cheese,
tomato basil soup and water. Before I can pay, Tyler nudges his way in front of
me, orders and then pays. I thank him as we wait at the counter for our food. He
begins to fidget with his hands jammed firmly in his pockets. This is the first
sign he has given that he might be slightly uneasy, maybe even unnerved by my
company. For some reason it causes me to smirk. Our order is up rather quickly
and Tyler grabs the tray making his way to a table in the back of the
restaurant. I follow closely behind still trying to figure out what to make of
the situation. I take a seat across from him and pull a corner from my sandwich
and dunk it into the soup.

“You look skinny,” he says. “Too
skinny.”

“Sorry, but that sounds like an
insult,” I respond.

“I just like you...” He pauses as if
trying not to insult me again, “not so thin. You’re still stunning, though. I think
even more so than before.”

“Tyler, you lost the right to say those
kinds of things to me when you left. You’re making me uncomfortable.”

“Now I’m insulted,” he says,
teasingly. “Really, it’s great to see you. You look well and the last thing I
want to do is insult you. If you only knew what seeing you this morning did to
me you’d know I’m as nervous as you are.” The mood shifts with his honesty and
I feel like maybe I’ve misjudged his arrival and subsequent comments. A fresh
emotion washes over me—happiness.

“So, how’ve you been? A lawyer, huh? Never
thought you’d actually do it.” I smile at him and he returns it.

“Yep. A few buddies from law school
and I started a practice back home in Chicago. Criminal defense, none of that
corporate law bullshit my dad loves so much. I’ve always thought about
relocating back to the coast and when I was contacted by Trini’s manager, I
figured it was a good opportunity for the company to expand.”

“Cool,” I say, actually sounding
casual. “So, did you know I was Trini’s publicist when you took the job?” This
wouldn’t be so outlandish. If you Googled Trini’s name ninety percent of the
time I am pictured standing next to her. He could have very easily located me
just based off of her name.

“No. Honestly I didn’t, but I’m glad
it turned out this way.” He smiles again and takes a bite of his sandwich. He
places his hand in front of his mouth as he chews, beginning to speak before he’s
finished the bite. “You’ve done really well. It’s quite impressive, what I’ve
seen so far.”

“Thank you. I try. Your mom might
actually be impressed with me,” I say jokingly. It’s a known fact that Tyler’s
mom hated me. It was the one thing that we would joke about regularly and it
always pleased me when he’d use me to get back at her. She was such a
controlled, in charge woman, yet she had absolutely no control over me or the
fact that Tyler loved me.

“Funny. Shit, she did hate you, but
you’ll be happy to know she definitely hates my wife more.”
His what?
Did he just say wife?
The smile drops from my face and the
uncomfortable factor returns. Who sits down with an ex-girlfriend, check that,
not even just an ex-girlfriend,
the
ex-girlfriend,
the one that lives in infamy, and spouts off lines to her about looking
stunning? Tyler, that’s who. Nothing has changed.

“Your wife?” I ask.

“Yes, my wife. Soon to be ex-wife,”
he adds casually. “We’ve only been married about a year. Met her in law school,
so we’ve been together for a while, but it just didn’t work out. Happens sometimes.”
Again, he’s casual; shrugging his shoulders he takes another bite of sandwich.

“How’s your family,” I ask changing
the subject. It’s too strange to discuss more deeply. Even though we’re at the
age where you marry, maybe even have a kid, I can only picture him at
twenty-two.

“They’re fine. Trevor works for my
dad. Good thing, because it surely wasn’t going to be me. My mom’s still at the
hospital, drugging people before surgery, giving epidurals, the usual. They
sold the house a few years ago. Moved to a walk up in Lincoln Park. It’s
unreal. The view of skyline is amazing.”

“Of course it is. Have you ever known
your parents to do anything half-assed?” He laughs and agrees with me. His
parents lived in a magnificent home in a high-end area of Naperville. An in
ground pool, the place all marble and slate and sandstone, balconies and peaked
roofs, winding staircase and formal everything. The only thing that stood out
in that home was Tyler’s room. A messy mix of rumpled sheets and unmade bed,
his soccer clothes thrown around and stacks of vinyl albums in the corner. The curtains
always closed dimming the unkempt appearance.

“How about you? The family?” he asks
with caution.

“Still haven’t spoken to my mother,
but what else is new. Rachel is good. Works out in Santa Barbara still. Not
sure about Maizey. I haven’t heard from her in a while.”

The conversation is easy. We laugh
and catch up like old friends, which is what we are now. We are no longer a
couple or that couple that ended badly. I almost forgot why we stopped
speaking, then it hits me and I have to stop myself from thinking about it. And
as we relive old memories, I begin to remember why I loved Tyler.

I reach for my cup and as I do Tyler
places his hand on my wrist, once again sliding his thumb along it. His touch
does things to me that make my mind race and my stomach flutter. He smiles
weakly.

“I thought you would’ve covered it by
now,” he says as I lay my arm flat on the table, palm up. He pulls up the
sleeve on his right arm to reveal the other half of the tattoo we both bear. He
places his arm next to mine and presses against me. Still a perfect match. “I’ll
follow you,” on my wrist and “if you follow me.” on his. The words intertwined
on both our wrists, his with a perfect yellow circle and mine with a white
petal. When connected it forms the last petal left on a daisy. “He loves me, he
loves me not.”

“I couldn’t,” I say truthfully. “It
meant something then. I guess its explanation is pretty damn cheesy now. Luckily
it’s easy to cover.” I try to sound nonchalant, like it doesn’t still mean
something to me. That’s the real reason I didn’t cover it. Meaning nowhere near
what it once meant, now I view it as a reminder of what can go wrong, how
quickly you can lose love, how fast someone can leave your life, someone who
meant so much, but now scarcely exists in your world.

“I guess it’s just a reminder of what
we once were,” he says.

“Guess so.”

“Any chance you could give me a lift
back to my hotel?”

“This sounds like a pick up line,
just so you know.” I joke with him and he laughs and says that maybe it is a
pick up line.

“No really, I took a cab here and I
don’t want to take one back. If it’s an issue, no big deal.”

“I’m supposed to be working, you know,
but I guess I could make an exception just this once.” I roll my eyes at him
and he smiles at me. I feel like I want to kiss him. I really need to get
control of myself. “I need to stop at my office and let my boss know. I’ll tell
her we’re finishing up some things regarding Trini’s case.”

Ellie is fittingly absent so I shoot
her a quick email while I get my things together. I grab my laptop just in case
I decide to head home after dropping Tyler off. Melinda pops her head in as I’m
packing up.

“Hey! I’ve been waiting for you. I’m
dying here.”

“Hey, Mel. Listen, I gotta run. I
promise I’ll call you tonight.” I peck her on the cheek as I rush past.

“What? You bitch! I am so pissed at
you right now!” she yells and practically everyone in the office looks up. I
smile and blow her a kiss as I head to the elevator.

“I promise I’ll call you. Love you!” I
yell back.

Tyler is waiting and he joins me in
the elevator as we take it to the parking garage. Elevators are always weird
and he breaks the silence. “Do you still have that white Neon?” I start
laughing and he looks at me waiting for an answer.

“No, I don’t. That car would have
been, like twelve years old. Plus I totaled it a while ago.”

“Darn it. I liked that car. What
happened?”

A serious car accident is one of
those things you never forget and in the wake of what I was already dealing
with at the time it is even more memorable. I can still recall the slow motion
movement, the squealing of the brakes as I forced both feet down on the petal. My
hands gripped the steering wheel with such force that my knuckles turned white,
then bright red. Small shards of balled up glass raining down on me like
snowflakes in winter as the windows gave way upon impact. The worst of it
though, the air bag dust; an orange powder that left its print and smell on my
clothes. Its smell is forever burned into my memory and on occasion I can still
conjure it up. I remember turning my head to the side and closing my eyes,
bracing for the worst. The air bag slamming into the side of my face burning my
cheek and hands as I completely lost control. The car finally coming to a stop
in the middle of the road while drivers honked and sped around me. The radio
blaring so loudly, as I reached for a knob that was no longer there, nothing to
stop the noise.
The Velvet Underground’s
“Pale Blue Eyes”
playing in a
continuous loop, a song that no matter where I’m at or what I’m doing still
stops me in my tracks.

I fill him in as we walk to the car. “I
was on my way home from work about a week after we broke up.” I pause letting
it sink in and hoping he doesn’t bring up the reason he left me. The moment
passes and I continue quickly. “It was late. I had bartended that night, so it
was around three and a drunk driver hit me head on. She was going the wrong way
and I didn’t notice until the last minute. It was too late to swerve and she
hit me. Hard.”

“Were you hurt?” His voice is filled
with concern. It’s odd to me that he would be concerned about something that
happened so long ago. It’s over and obviously I’m fine.

“I broke my cheekbone from the air
bag impact. I also had two broken ribs and a punctured lung. It wasn’t too bad.
The paramedic said it would’ve been worse without my seat belt and the air bag.”

“How did I not know about this?”

“It was a strange time, Tyler. I didn’t
want you there and I know you wouldn’t have wanted to be there either.” I
remember the car accident like it was yesterday and I also remember siting in
the ER as I picked up the phone multiple times to call him. I felt like I was
being a martyr if I called him; that I somehow had caused the accident just to
bring him back to me. My logic sounded completely clear at the time. Bringing
him there to see me injured and upset would make him want me, forgive me for
what I had done, yet it all seemed like a contrived plan.

“I apologize. I should have been there.”

“Water under the bridge.” I stop at
my car and he starts laughing. “What?”

“This is your car?” He points at my
silver Cabrio, still laughing. “Awesome. This is even better than the Neon.”

“I’m glad you like it. A little piece
of home.”

It’s a near replica of the one I had
in high school, just newer. We both climb in and as I start the car he says, “You
wanna make out in it for old times sake.” I feel my cheeks flush and I shake my
head at him. I can’t answer because my answer might just be “yes”. I can see
myself straddling him in the passenger seat. His hands in my shirt, over my
bra, my lips pressed to his as I lower myself down against the bulge in his
jeans. We’re sixteen again and the urgency and need so intense that it wreaks
havoc on my senses and makes him grope me without any regard for the
possibility of people watching. I stop short of my daydream becoming a
nightmare as I almost drive off the road. If he noticed, he doesn’t mention it.

He directs me to The Beverly Hilton
and I feel a little guilty that he is staying at a hotel, but I admonish myself
for even thinking of having him stay with me. That’s just asking for trouble. We
make quiet conversation and I ask how long he is in town and he says
indefinitely. He tells me that there is nothing left for him in Chicago with
the divorce and everything. His car is being delivered today as well as the
rest of his stuff when he can find a place to live. He jokes that his stuff
will hopefully make it here. It’s still in the house he shared with his wife. I
learn that her name is Charlotte and for some reason all I can picture is a
temp we had at the office when Maggie broke her wrist. She was a debutant who
hadn’t worked a day in her life and she once wore a Juicy Couture tracksuit on
casual Friday. I couldn’t stand her and Melinda took to calling her “Tracksuit”
for the three weeks she filled in for Maggie. I picture her applying lip gloss
and obsessively primping her hair. If they had had kids she would be pushing a
Bugaboo stroller down a sidewalk in Lincoln Park wearing heels and talking on
her cell. Their baby cooing and giggling, because God forbid this perfect woman
have a colicky baby.
Why am I spending so
much time on this?